


Trepidation

by NebulousDream



Category: South Park
Genre: College/Post-Grad AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousDream/pseuds/NebulousDream
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Stan Marsh has been hopelessly in love with Wendy Testaburger. At 23, after college, he finally works up the courage to ask her the one question that will tie them together for life. But to him, there's one major problem: he so nervous, he might throw up. As for Wendy, the problem is more of an obstacle, standing between them and happiness. If they can work through it, Wendy knows they can be happy forever. However, this engagement leaves someone feeling like this chapter of their lives is coming to a close all too fast.





	1. Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! In light of the recent episodes (RIP Stendy), I decided to write this in a world where they're happy and stable together for a long time. There's some lampshaded Creek in this; I'll tag it if it becomes more developed. Also, to note, everyone is around 23 years old, so either graduated/moving to further their education.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. I'm a huge sucker for weddings, proposals, and puppy love. Stan is the perfect subject to use to tell a story involving all three of those things, and this is the beginning of that story. I haven't written multi-chaptered fic in about 5 years, so bear with me as we stumble through this together.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Dude, _no,_ listen to me. No you’re not,” Kyle protested, popping another fry in his mouth. He and Stan sat at a large group table at Shakey’s Diner, accompanied by the rest of their usual gang, along with Clyde’s crew, Butters, and Davíd. They had been gathered here by Kyle, who told them that there was something important that needed to be discussed with Stan. Stan was proposing to Wendy tonight, and Kyle said he wanted him to have extra moral support from the guys.

“How do you know, Kyle? I haven’t been able to keep from throwing up since we were eight. _Eight!”_ Stan groaned, putting his face in his hands.

Cartman reached across the table to steal some of Stan’s untouched fries while he wasn’t looking, ignoring Kyle’s glare. “Stan, there’s no way she’s gonna say yes if you throw up on her.”

“Shut up, fatass! Can’t you be a little more supportive?” Kyle’s glare pierced across the table at his arch rival.

“What’s the point in being supportive if I sacrifice my world-renowned honestly, _Kahl?”_

“You’ve never been honest a day in your life!”

“Oh, really? How about that time in elementary school when…” From there, the two devolved into a squabble that the rest of the table decidedly ignored. Kyle would either wear Cartman down, or Cartman would wear Kyle down: either way, it was best to leave them be.

Clyde took this opportunity to shoot a sympathetic look at Stan. “I think you’ll be fine, Stan. You care about her a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Stan sighed. “But I cared about her when we were eight and I wanted to kiss her in front of Stark’s Pond, too, and I still threw up all over her.”

“Maybe having something in mind to say to her beforehand will help,” Token chimed in. “You know, like how before weddings, the couples always write wedding vows. Except you’re not there yet, so you need to make her want to go that distance with you. Say something meaningful, you know?”

“What, something like ‘sorry I threw up on you for the last fifteen years? Oh, Wendy, how I hope you’ll take me to the altar, so I can vomit on you in front of everyone you love!” Kenny swooned, snickering, earning himself a whack on the arm from Kyle. Even though Kyle was still arguing with Cartman (their argument had long since deviated from its original point), he was always listening—it was strangely motherly.

Stan sighed again, dragging his hands down his face and smacking his forehead against the table in defeat. This was a totally useless “meeting,” and there was no way Stan was going to be able to work up the courage to propose to his long-time girlfriend tonight. It was the 15th anniversary of the first time he kissed her at Stark’s Pond. He’d still thrown up on her then, but it was his first victory in what would become a very shaky on-again, off-again relationship. In their grade school years, they’d broken up and gotten back together so many times that Stan had a hard time pinning down an anniversary for them—that’s why he decided that the anniversary of their first kiss would have to suffice. Would Wendy even remember the significance of Stan picking today to propose, over all other days? When he took her out to Stark’s Pond tonight, got down on one knee, took the ring out of his pocket—

He felt sick. “You know what, Kenny?” He mumbled. “You’re right. Why am I asking Wendy to marry me, anyway? It’s asking to have a, like, two-thousand dollar dress be covered in vomit.”

“You think Wendy’ll go that cheap on a dress?” Token asked. Stan gaped at Token’s question, feeling a whole new wave of nausea. “N-not that you’ll have to worry about it!” Token backpedaled, noticing the immediate distress.

“He probably will,” Craig deadpanned, taking a sip of his milkshake. “The groom’s family always pays for the wedding.”

“Agh! Seriously? N-no way, dude! That’s way too much stress!” Tweek shook his head violently from beside Craig. “I’m never gonna get married!”

“Aw, shucks, Tweek, don’t you think you’ll find The One someday?” Butters offered, trying his best not to look too obviously at Craig. “You think you’re just gonna stay single forever?”

“I-if my family has to pay for a _wedding,_ then yeah, dude!” Tweek shivered, tugging at the locks of his hair. Craig leaned over and whispered something into his ear, which seemed to calm him.

Stan’s nerves continued brewing in his gut. The voices just blended together into white noise above him, and he knew his plate of food had gone cold. He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, feeling the velvet ring box he’d placed there earlier this morning. Kyle thought getting together with the guys like old times would ease Stan’s mind. Stan wanted to agree. But sitting and listening to the guys only seemed to make everything worse. He stood, pushing his chair in.

“I need to get some air.”

Outside, the cool South Park air calmed him, if only briefly. He sat down on the curb, and took his hat off to run a hand through his hair. He groaned. What would he even say to Wendy? There was a distinctly real chance that Wendy would reject him. She had plenty of reason to. Over the years, their on-and-off relationship had experienced some pretty low blows: Stan once dumped Wendy because he thought a startup company would “drown him in bitches;” Wendy once broke up with him via paper slip, as part of a plan the rest of the girls acted out to get revenge on the boys. In high school, their breakups were less frequent. Stan broke away to figure out his sexuality. Wendy parted ways simply because she “needed a break.” At the end of the day, they always came back together. Eventually, Stan admitted to himself that he was hopelessly in love with Wendy Testaburger, and that was never going to change.

Stan rubbed his face, groaning again. There was no way Wendy wanted to be with him as badly as he wanted to be with her.

“Hey, Stan, you alright?”

Stan looked up, and Davíd had taken a seat next to him on the curb. He looked out at the street and sighed. “I’m alright. Just needed some space to think.”

Davíd nodded beside him. “You wanna talk about it?”

Did he? Davíd, while a good friend, was one of the last people to join their friend circle in South Park. He’d immediately clicked with Kyle (not that Stan was jealous, or anything), and after that, becoming friends with the rest of the group was easy. Eventually, even Cartman accepted him. If nothing else, Davíd was a good listener, but could Stan trust him? Kyle trusted Davíd, and they hung out regularly to talk—or collectively rant, Stan wasn’t sure.

He shrugged. What did he have to lose? “I just—I don’t know what to say to her, Davíd. What if she says no?”

“Stan,” Davíd shifted to face him. “If she says no, you’ll survive. You’ll be heartbroken, but everyone in there—” Davíd gestured to the table inside, “—is here for you, rooting for you, and ready to catch you if you fall. And you’ll move on. But I don’t think she’ll say no.”

“What…what makes you say that?” Stan wanted to smack himself for sounding so vulnerable.

“This could just be me, but I think that somewhere, deep in her heart, Wendy knows how devoted you are to her. That, above anyone else, you care about her. You get angry when other people hurt her. You want to comfort her when she’s confused, and support her when she succeeds,” He looked to Stan, smiling. “Right?”

Stan couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. When you put it that way, it’s hard to disagree with you,” Then, his eyebrows knit together. “But, what if I throw up on her? I really can’t shake this nausea at all today.”

Davíd laughed. “I think then, she’ll know it’s for real.”

It took him a second, but soon, Stan was laughing, too. Davíd had a point: any significant moment in Stan’s relationship with Wendy had been punctuated by vomit in some form. Their first kiss, first hand-holding, first date (and second, and third), among many others (with exceptions—Stan did, surprisingly, keep it together during their few sexual escapades).

Stan joined Davíd and the others back inside the restaurant, and he sat down feeling triumphant. “Guys,” he announced. “Tonight, I am going to propose to Wendy Testaburger.”

Craig lifted an eyebrow at him. “We know that already.” 

“I’m going to take her to Stark’s Pond, and we’re going to sit on the bench and watch the sun set,” He felt like he was dreaming. “I’m going to get down on one knee, and give her an award-winning speech, and at the end, she’s either gonna kiss me or slap me, and… that’s okay.”

Kyle beamed at him. “That’s the spirit, Stan!” He clapped him on the back, and Stan recalled how deceptively strong Kyle was, for his size. “You’ve gotta tell me right away what she says. Promise.”

“Of course, man, I promise. There’s no way my future Best Man is going to be in the dark on whether my potential wife says ‘yes’ or not.”

“Excuse you, Stan,” Cartman interrupted, eyes narrowing. “I think you meant to say that _I’m_ your future Best Man.”

“Uh, dude, no. Kyle’s been my best friend for like, 15 years. He’s going to be the Best Man at my wedding,” Stan chuckled.

“Right, right, you keep telling him that. I know, you don’t want to hurt his little feelings. I’m here for you, Stan. I’ll be the perfect Best Man for your wedding.”

“Seriously, Cartman, don’t… Don’t do anything to Kyle to get his spot in the wedding. Just. Don’t,” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have waited to settle this until after hearing Wendy’s answer, but when it comes to Cartman, trying to nip this in the bud felt like the more logical option. “Anyway, I gotta go get ready. I’ve gotta pick Wendy up at 5. I have a lot of thinking to do before then.”

A chorus of “good luck” and “we’re rooting for you” came from the table, and Stan felt a swell of nostalgia and support. Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe this was a good idea. He smiled at them, waving over his shoulder as he left to prepare what he’d say to Wendy. _You’ve got this, Marsh. You’re gonna rock her world._

-:-

By 5 P.M., Stan felt like he was going to throw up all over again. He paced nervously in front of the Testaburger residence, adjusting his blazer and button-down for the umpteenth time that evening. He carded a hand through his hair, checking his appearance in the mirror of one of the parked cars in the driveway. Quadruple-checking his side pocket for the ring—yup, still there—he approached the door, ringing the bell.

Wendy opened the door, much to Stan’s simultaneous surprise and relief: he didn’t want to have to interact with Mr. or Mrs. Testaburger right now, not with his adrenaline pumping loudly in his ears. Wendy looked stunning, though, and Stan’s heartbeat quickened just looking at her; how, in the span of 15 years, Stan _still_ couldn’t escape puppy love, was something nobody could answer. Wendy’s hair was spun into a single braid cascading down her shoulder, her pink beret situated comfortably on top. She wore a modest, deep purple waistcoat, with pink leggings to match her beret and a yellow scarf, to drive Stan crazy (this was likely not the reason—but it was the effect).

Stan smiled. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Wendy laughed, though she looked a bit shy. She stepped out of her house, closing the door behind her. “You look nice, Stan.”

“Not nearly as good as you do,” He replied, walking up to her to give her a kiss. He extended his arm for her to take. “Are you ready to go?”

Wendy took Stan’s arm, nodding. “Ready as ever. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere really special,” Stan tried to sound mysterious, unsure if he was succeeding. “Don’t worry—you’re not over or underdressed. It’s perfect.”

Laughing, Wendy nudged his side with her elbow. “Stan, you would tell me that even if you were taking me to a black-tie formal at the sharpest winery in town.”

“And I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Wendy simply shook her head, letting him lead them to Stark’s Pond. On the way, they made meager small talk: how their parents were doing, how life outside of college was much crazier than either of them ever thought it would be. Wendy’s political science degree scored her dozens of internships, and she was currently employed, writing for an online magazine. Stan had only recently finished his degree in civil engineering, and was currently signed on to a project in South Park; oddly enough, the town still had to fix their failed attempt at gentrification, and Sodosopa was still looking worse for wear. Stan was overjoyed to take the job.

They sat on the bench at Stark’s Pond, the sun already setting over the water. Stan felt his adrenaline picking up again; he’d relaxed since talking to Wendy about mundane things, but now, he knew what moment was coming next.

“Wendy—”

“Stan—”

Both of them stared at each other for a moment, laughing nervously at their predicament.

“You go ahead,” Stan suggested, subconsciously looking for any way to stall.

“N-no, you looked like you had something really important to say, Stan. Go ahead,” Wendy urged, an emotion Stan couldn’t place clouding her eyes.

“Right,” Stan braced himself, turning to face Wendy fully. He took a deep breath. Then another. _You can do this. Don’t throw up._ “Wendy. Fifteen years ago, at this very pond, you and I shared a moment I will never forget: our first kiss. You might not forget it because, well, I’m pretty sure I threw up on you afterwards. But I’ll never forget it because it was the first moment I shared with the girl of my dreams. 

“When I was eight, I thought you were way out of my league. You were smart, pretty, and this natural leader to the other girls. I was afraid that every other guy in school was coming for you, and they were all way smarter than me. But you and I dated. On and off, yeah, but it happened. You saw other guys sometimes, and I tried to understand—I got jealous anyway,” Stan laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we always came back together. I…never saw anyone else. Whenever I tried to get with another girl, all I could think about was you. I wanted to learn how to be the best person I could be, so that I could deserve a girl as awesome as you.” 

He paused, moving from sitting beside Wendy to kneeling in the snow. Stan reached into his pocket, shaking hand grasping the tiny box. Wendy bit her lip, moving a gloved hand to cover her mouth.

“Wendy, I have been hopelessly in love with you for 15 years. When I think about the rest of my life, I can’t imagine spending it with anyone but you. You’re—you’re the girl of my dreams, and every day I feel lucky to be with you. Every day, I learn from you. And I want the rest of my life to be like that. So, Wendy Testaburger,” Stan pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it, facing it to Wendy. “Will you marry me?”

A half dozen emotions crossed Wendy’s face in the span of the next minute, and Stan couldn’t register any of them because he was too busy waiting anxiously for an answer. He did think, though, that she looked awfully pale.

Then, Wendy stood, stumbled, and threw up in Stark’s Pond.

It took Stan a solid minute to fully register what had occurred. First, that he wasn’t the one who threw up; second, that someone _did,_ in fact, throw up; and third, that it was _Wendy._ When all of this clicked, Stan whirled around, snapping the box shut and dropping it. He scrambled across the snow to sit beside Wendy and rub circles on her back.

“Oh my god! Wendy! Are you okay? Oh my god,” Stan tried getting as much of her hair away from her face as possible—lucky that she braided it—and he continued to soothe her, waiting for her answer.

In response, Wendy coughed, spit, and then began to laugh. Stan’s circles came to a halt. If he was worried about her being sick before, now, he was much more concerned with her mental health.

“I can’t believe I sympathy-puked for you,” She said between fits of giggling. “Every major moment in our relationship outside of the bedroom, you’ve puked. Except now! So I—gosh, and I was so nervous, I just—oh, I’m so sorry, Stan,” Her laughter fell into a sympathetic look. “I can’t believe you… you said such beautiful, sweet things to me, and I puked.”

Stan smiled at her. “Don’t worry,” He assured. “I probably deserve it, for all the times I puked on you.”

Once they were both sure that Wendy was alright, they sat back on the bench, and Stan retrieved his ring box. He opened it again, presenting it cautiously.

Wendy smiled warmly. “It’s such a beautiful ring, Stan.”

“Y-yeah. Do you…um. Want to wear it?”

“That—that has to do with what I’m about to tell you,” Wendy cleared her throat, and she looked guilty. Stan’s blood ran cold. _Is this it? Is she about to tell me I’m not worth her time?_ He felt like he was about to suffocate and hyperventilate at the same time, but Wendy continued speaking. “I’m going out of state to get my Master’s degree. It’s in Human Rights Studies. I’ll be going to Columbia University. I…we wouldn’t be able to have a ceremony until after I returned,” Wendy placed her hands over Stan’s, making eye contact with him. Her eyes began to water. “Stan, I…I would _love_ to be your wife. You’ve become such a wonderful man, and—I love you. But—but are you okay with this? I’m so sorry I haven’t told you. I didn’t get my acceptance letter until just a couple days ago, and I was…still deciding whether I wanted to go.”

Stan’s heart leapt into his throat, and he pulled Wendy into a hug before it became too obvious that he started crying a little bit. “Wendy, I would wait for you to get _seven_ Master’s degrees if that’s what it took. I’m happy for you. We—we can do long distance, we’ll Skype, and I can fly you here for the holidays. Or I can go to you. I love you.” He pulled Wendy closer to him, and he felt her sigh shakily in relief.

“I love you, too, Stan. Thank you,” Wendy sighed into Stan’s blazer, inadvertently wiping some of her tears on his lapel. “Can I…wear that ring, now?”

Stan leapt back, offering the ring box to Wendy again. “Of course!” He watched with pure joy as she slipped off her glove, took the ring, and slid it on her finger. That ring had taken him ages to pick out: it had a white gold curved band, almost braiding around the diamond in the center, which was surrounded by a series of smaller diamonds, glinting slightly in the light of the lamppost near Stark’s Pond. It was modest, but beautiful; Stan knew Wendy could never bear to wear something flashy.

“This must have cost you a fortune. How did you…?”

“I got an advance on the project I’m assigned to here. It was enough,” Stan laughed nervously. “But I couldn’t afford to take you out to eat anywhere just yet. I wanted…to come somewhere that meant something special to both of us,” He looked out to the pond, eyes glinting with nostalgia. “I promise I’ll take you out later.”

“Stan, you know I don’t need all the fanfare,” Wendy slipped her glove over her hand, before taking Stan’s in hers. “This was more than I could ever ask for.”

They shared a kiss under the stars at Stark’s Pond, and Stan’s heart soared. He was so lucky to be with someone like Wendy—driven, devoted, and a damn good kisser. That moment felt so romantic, he could barely remember the sympathy puke. He would have to remember it, though, to mention it in his re-telling of the night’s events to Kyle. Never in a thousand years did he think he would be telling a story about him and Wendy that involved _her_ doing the nervous puking instead of him.

But at least he knew it was for real.


	2. Sleepless Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for clicking on my fic, and joining me for the second chapter. I had intended to finish this a lot earlier, but you know how life goes.  
> I hope you enjoy! I'm really passionate about Kyle as a character, so being able to write in his perspective is exciting.

There were two things in the world that Kyle Broflovski treasured: long hours of extended quiet to study, and a night he was able to sleep in. Between studying to go to law school and balancing his social life with the guys, he never got to have both. But tonight—tonight, he was about to achieve a golden nirvana. After meeting with the guys to talk Stan through his proposal (and inevitably arguing with Cartman, who _wasn’t even invited_ ), Kyle went home to a quiet house, and was getting ready to turn in early. It was a modern miracle, if he could dare to tell himself such a thing. He buried himself under the plush covers, turning off the light. He could already feel himself drifting to sleep.

And then there were was a tap on his window. Followed by two more.

Kyle sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He groaned. One night, his one chance at having a perfect evening, all to be ruined by three, telltale taps on his window, which meant one of two things. Either Cartman had come—with some twisted intuition that tonight was going to be perfect for Kyle—solely to ruin his evening somehow; or, it was Stan, foolishly coming to his house late at night to tell him how things went with Wendy instead of taking one of the other, more logical options: calling or texting.

He groaned again, wanting _so badly_ to just go back to bed. But if it was Stan standing outside his bedroom window, he would never forgive himself for not checking. So, he begrudgingly threw the covers off, paced to his window, and opened it.

“Stan? What the hell are you doing?”

“I—” Stan looked helpless, no, _lost_ in that moment, like he’d accidentally wandered there drunk (not impossible). “I just—I proposed to Wendy! I gotta tell you the whole story. Can I…?” He gestured vaguely to the front of Kyle’s house.

Kyle sighed. “Sure. I’ll get the door.”

After letting Stan in and grabbing a late-night snack, they sat on Kyle’s bed, and Stan retold the story of what happened earlier that evening.

“Wait. _Wendy_ threw up on you?”

“Yeah, dude! I panicked—I thought she was sick, or worse, that she was sick because of something I said, but it turns out she was…sympathy puking? That’s what she called it,” Stan explained, gesturing with his hands more than usual. Kyle didn’t know what to make of it: he’d seen Stan in various states of emotion, and not to brag, but he became pretty good at reading Stan Marsh like a book. But this, whatever was happening with Stan’s face right now, Kyle couldn’t place. “So I’m…really nervous, at this point, right, because I asked her to spend the rest of her life with me and she hasn’t said anything.”

“Yeah, and when she opened her mouth, she _threw up._ Sympathy puking? Really, Stan?” Kyle quirked a brow. Stan had excused a lot of weird things Wendy had done over the last 15 years, but this had to top the list as the weirdest.

“Yes, really, Kyle! Look, I’m just impressed that I didn’t chain-react to her puking. But,” Stan paused, biting his lip. “She told me she’s…she’s getting her Master’s degree at Columbia University.”

Kyle’s jaw dropped, and he swear he saw red flash before his eyes. “No, no she is _not_ leaving you for Columbia—”

“Wait! Kyle, dude, let me finish,” Stan held up his hands, stopping Kyle’s hissing fuse in its tracks. “She said yes.”

“Stan Marsh!” Kyle reprimanded, but he was smiling, and he had to resist the overwhelming urge to punch him. “You should have started with that!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Stan laughed. “It’s a much more awesome story if I tell it how it happened, dude. But, she said we can’t have a ceremony or anything until she comes back.”

It took Kyle a moment to fully process what that meant. “You’re going long distance?”

“Yeah, dude,” Stan said, as if it was obvious. “Of course. We’ll Skype all the time, and we promised we’d fly to each other over the holidays. We’ll work out the details more later, but…we’re engaged!”

“Stan. You’re not worried about this at all?”

Stan’s smile fell, and his brows furrowed. “Wh-what do you mean, Kyle?”

“Look, Stan, I’m happy for you. No, I’m over the moon—I’m sure I won’t be the first one to tell you I’ve been waiting years for this moment,” Kyle sighed, and wrung his hands. “But…you don’t think she’ll…meet someone else out there?”

“You think Wendy would cheat on me?” Stan frowned. Kyle was sure it was meant to look stern, but his voice betrayed him—Stan hadn’t considered that before, and now he was worried. And Kyle is responsible for planting that seed. _Damn it._

“No! No! That’s not—dude, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” Kyle backpedaled, though it was honestly hard to backpedal from a statement like that. “I just want you to be sure you’re ready for going long distance. I’d hate to see her break your heart.”

Stan was quiet for some time after that, and Kyle felt the guilt seeping to his bones. When he met Kyle’s eyes again, however, he looked determined. “No. I don’t think she’s gonna cheat on me, Kyle. Wendy’s going out there to get a degree that’ll help her career more, and she’s not gonna be fooling around while she’s out there. She wouldn’t have said yes to me if she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend her life with me,” Stan faltered, looking to Kyle for approval. “Right?”

He smiled warmly in response. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry I said anything. I shouldn’t doubt the power of love when it comes to you two,” He laughed. “I’m happy for you, Stan.”

“Thanks, Kyle. It means a lot to me,” Stan grinned, clapping Kyle on the shoulder. “So. You still wanna be the Best Man at my wedding?”

“Uh, duh, Stan, who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve been your super best friend for twenty years. If I said no to being your Best Man, I would have to have gone insane, be in a coma, or some other similarly vegetative state where I can’t speak straight,” He stood and held open his arms, and Stan, being the mushy guy he always was, readily wrapped his arms around Kyle in a hug.

Kyle was the one who pulled away first, but both of them were still smiling. “You’ve got this, Stan. And I’m here for you. Go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

Stan chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, you’re right,” He grabbed his jacket, making his way out of Kyle’s room when he paused. “Hey, Kyle?”

“What is it?”

“Thanks. You know, for letting me bug you so late at night with…all this.”

“Stan, it’s not bugging me if it’s you. We’re super best friends. I’m here for you, all hours of the day, for anything you need. I’ve got your back.”

Stan beamed. “You’re right. You know I’ve got the same gig going for you, too. If you need anything.”

“I know, dude. Good night, Stan.”

“Night. See you tomorrow.” Stan left, waving over his shoulder. Kyle closed the door behind him, sighing in relief for two reasons: one, that Wendy had said yes, and two, that Kyle could finally go to bed. Flicking off the light switch, he tucked himself back into bed, ready for a long, well deserved night’s sleep.

Or so he thought.

What Kyle wanted was to get in bed, close his eyes, turn off his thought processes for the night, and fall asleep. What happened instead was Kyle got in bed, closed his eyes, and his thought processes went into overdrive. It hit him like a sack of bricks all at once: Stan was getting _married._ That was a serious life commitment to have with someone, and it meant something Earth-shattering to Kyle: everyone was growing up. It felt like just five minutes ago, the gang was ten years old, traipsing around the elementary school hallways like they owned the place, making all kinds of weird, stupid decisions. Stan and Wendy tying the knot was going to be the beginning of a trend for other couples who wanted to do the same, and people’s lives were going to launch into new chapters. Kyle wasn’t sure that he was ready for that: he was still going to school, and soon he would be taking exams to transfer to law school and become a lawyer. He hadn’t considered a relationship since the beginning of high school.

His eyes shot open, and he stared at the ceiling, trapped in thoughts about the past. High school had been kind of a rough time for Kyle—he had finally come to terms with the fact that there was a reason he’d only ever dated one or two girls in his whole life. Being gay wasn’t an easy secret to keep, especially not with someone like Eric Cartman around. Kyle knew that as soon as Cartman caught wind of his sexuality, the “jewfag” jokes would increase twentyfold, among other derogatory terms. For years, the rest of the guys had tried telling Kyle not to listen, to just ignore Cartman, but _god damn it,_ that was a lot harder than anyone realized. It was one thing to be the victim of a passing snide remark, but it was another animal entirely to be his biggest target. It’s like Kyle was walking around with a sign on his back that read, _‘Please, Eric Cartman! Pick on me, for everything! My religion! My hair! My friendships! The way I speak! Anything!’_ Thanks to Cartman’s twisted fascination with him, Kyle barely felt like talking about himself.

Of course, naturally, it came out. And the sign on Kyle’s back had only grown. Any time that Cartman had found Kyle even _looking_ in the direction of another guy, he made some snide remark that Kyle was “undressing them with his eyes.” It made Kyle sick, making him want to shove any and all feelings in places nobody could ever find them. Usually, he would be able to fight back—but you can only fight back so much in over ten years. Besides, some battles weren’t worth fighting over and over; Cartman had given him enough anxiety about his identity when they were kids, just for being Jewish.

Kyle shook his head, wiping his hands across his face. _I need to get some sleep._ He turned over in his bed, reaching for his green ushanka to pull down over his curls, a habit long-ingrained into him by now. He forced his eyes closed, and began counting down from 100.

_100…99…98…What if I’m doomed to be one of those loners? Those guys that show up to high school reunions after 20 years and say that they’re still alone?_

“Damn it. No,” Kyle whispered harshly to himself. “That’s not going to happen. Just because Stan and Wendy are getting married doesn’t mean the fabric of your childhood is being torn apart.”

Kyle wished he could believe it. He flipped over, determined to get to sleep quickly. _100…99…You know you like someone. Get over the idea that Cartman will tease you to death and confess._ He squeezed his eyes closed; sleep would be his bitch this time. _98…97…96…95…You know he wouldn’t stop being your friend if you told him. It’s not like he’s gonna move away once you confess._ Kyle ignored the heat filling his cheeks and continued counting. 

He had to count down from 100 three times before sleep finally came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated but not required.  
> Hmmm... I wonder who Kyle has a crush on? ;)


End file.
